Page 69 of Sinners Reunion

Glowing blue lights illuminate our path as we stroll past large tanks filled with fish and other aquatic life. We stop in front of a window that lets us view a tank featuring three manatees.

“These three were injured by boaters. Do you see the scars?” He points to one as it swims by, and I notice the long white lines running through the poor thing’s gray hide. “They’ve almost healed up. Once they’re better, they’ll be transported and released in Florida.”

I place my hand against the glass, and a round face stops in front of me. “Is this what I look like in the water?”

“No,” Grim says. “You look more like that thing.”

I turn and see where he’s pointing—at a tank holding Atlantic blue crabs. They skitter sideways and reach for the bubbles pouring out of a tube in the back.

“Ha. Ha,” I say. “Why do you keep calling me a fucking crab, anyway?”

Instead of answering me, he pinches his fingers in my face and walks away, joining Rosie by a tank filled with river fish.

King guides me out of the indoor aquarium and into another section of the facility marked for staff only. We traverse a narrow corridor before it spits us into another aquatics section, but instead of looking into tanks, we’re peering into an indoor wetland scene. Even the room’s humidity has been cranked to tropical settings.

A glass partition separates us from the gator enclosure. Three massive reptiles sun themselves below a large heat lamp on the sandy shore. A few ducks kick around in the water, giving the gators a wide berth.

“They don’t bother the ducks,” King says as we stop. “The staff keeps their water teeming with large native fish, and they frequently give them hunting trials with larger prey.”

I grimace and shake my head. “I don’t want to see that.”

“Yes you do.” He pats my ass, and we keep walking.

Grim and Rose join us as we go to the far end of the room, where a small table has been set up. A white tablecloth covers the surface, and on top of that rests our dinnerware, a candle, and a slender glass vase holding a single white rose.

King pulls out a chair, and I take a seat.

“No menus?” I ask.

“I’ve ordered ahead for the table.” King sits beside me as Rose takes her seat across from me. “Conch fritters for the appetizer, followed by bison burgers and gator bites.”

My gaze drifts back to the alligators. “Please tell me we aren’t eating the ones they couldn’t rehabilitate.”

Grim scoffs and places a cloth napkin in his lap. “Waste not, want not.”

King’s hand lands on my thigh beneath the table, and he gives it a reassuring squeeze. “We’re eating meat sourced from homesteaders, actually. Ever since Jim got on this animal-welfare kick, he cares a bit more about where our meat comes from.”

“There are alligator homesteaders?” I ask with a curled lip.

“I know of only one.” King sips his water. “Jim put one of the Cattle-turned-staffers onto an island surrounded by gators. He’s too dangerous to let loose, but as long as he keeps tending Jim’s gator farm with the care he never showed his own beasts, he can continue to breathe air.”

A server comes by our table and drops off the appetizer. Grim places a few fritters onto a plate for himself and Rose before digging in. I just grab one from the metal tray and pop it into my mouth. I’m starving.

Spices and seafood meld with the golden batter as I sink my teeth into the most delicious bite I’ve ever tasted. I close my eyes and fight off the urge to moan. That’s when I hear a strange sound coming from the other side of the table.

I pop open my eyes. Rose stares back at me, her mouth agape. She pats her chest and leans forward.

“Hey, uh, Grim? I think she’s choking,” I say.

Grim’s wiry neck turns so fast that I’m certain it will snap. He rips off his spectacles and cleans them in a hurry, as if that will change what he sees.

“Ach! Hilfe!” He looks around, his eyes landing on me. “She is choking! Please, kleine Krabbe. Please help her.”

I stand from the table and hurry to Rose’s side. “Maybe I’m stereotyping here, but the Heimlich maneuver definitely sounds like something a German should know.”

“Henry Heimlich was American,” King says. “His family were Jewish immigrants. You should really pick up a book sometime.”

I heave Rose out of her seat and wrap my arms around her middle. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind after I’m done saving her life!”